London

This city feels sometimes like an empty shell, Pure life force twisted and turned into entertainment, Like animals in a circus, And though the beauty of this world given birth by contortions is mostly hidden beneath a mask of overgrown skin and pound signs, The light is still visible, like a crack between black out curtains blown open by the breeze that enters through the windows of our soul, which are always left open, Sunlight ever present whether seen or unseen, I choose to keep remembering the sun, Even when my entire being Is drenched in thickened black tar and the night is my only friend..I think this is partly what is meant by 'meditation', for suffering is simply attachment to lesser context. As the inner witness is granted eternal life within me and my capacity to look beyond my own personal experience takes flight, I discover again that I am not here to serve my own purpose. I was put here for others. Though my ego often battles with this truth and in war there is alwaYs suffering...this is a world war, everyone looks toward the ground yet all they need do is look up, the sun is just beyond the horizon, waiting for us to welcome the new dawn.

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